tennis, life and a few things in between

REB B line fm CDG to Paris cost €9.75 and it’s an hour long ride. It departed at 9:55am and got to Gare du Nord in only 30 min. The scenery on route is extremely ugly. Just when two tall buildings appeared – I thought we were about to enter the civilization, the train went underground.

No passport checking

A good payback for my own laziness: I asked for direction at the airport instead checking my own note. The staff gave me the wrong direction so I ended up at Gare d’Austerlitz. I felt something was wrong when I arrived at the station where there’s no bums around. The female clerk at the ticket booth was rather rude.

I went up to the street and still saw no bums. I asked a man who’s walking by for direction. He looked at me sadly and replied,

“Roland Garros? You’re at the wrong side of the town.”

OMG, I cried out loud.

A bad habit: I didn’t bother to write down the Metro route thinking I could always ask, IF I forget. Think again. I forgot which Metro station to go to once I landed. At the Information booth at the CDG, they directed me to the east side of the city Mairie de Montreuil on Line 9. The Open is at Michel-Ange Auteuil on Line 10, at the west side of the city. I knew something is wrong because I didn’t see any tennis bums on the train. (I had a little unpleasant exchange with the woman at the ticket booth). I got on the street and asked a person who was walking by me if he knew where the Stade Roland Garros is.
He stopped and said,
“I think you’re at the wrong part of the city.” He looked down at me.
I was depressed.
“Who told you to come here?” He asked.
“The information man at the CDG.” I replied.
“You know what,” He shifted a little and said, “you asked me the same question the last time.”
I was totally confused. How could that be?
“You were here the last time when you went to the Open.” He insisted.
I just couldn’t believe it. So I asked if I could take a picture of him. He agreed.
“You can use a cup of coffee.” He said.
I wanted to hit something or scream. but mostly mad at myself. I came here for the French Open, and all I needed is how to get there. How difficult would that task be? Or at least remember the gener al direction. (Now come to think about his claiming that I’d asked him once before, it could not have been because I went there only once and I went to the right Metro station.)
He ended up ushered me back to the station and gave me a ticket.